Page 15 of Of Iron and Moonlight

At the edge of the loggia, he looked back. It was no more than a turn of the head, a soldier’s accounting of the field left behind. Between trunks and climbing vines, he caught sight of the pear tree and the fall of her skirt where she still stood.

It should have given him solace that he had spoken plainly and without compulsion. What she chose next would be her own—a freedom he himself had never known. Yet the thought did little to ease his nerves.

Chapter 8

Koraleise

It was an odd thing to wake believing one need only endure a single visit from a duke, and lie down that same night bound to him for life. Elysande’s wails still echoed in Kora’s ears as she studied her own bewildered reflection the next morning.

Behind her, Yaoaya’s hands moved with quiet certainty as she tugged the drawstrings of her mother’s finest gown—the best they could manage on such short notice. Stitched copper charms on the old woman’s headwrap caught the morning light slipping through the shutters as unguarded eyes lifted to study Kora before returning to their work.

Kora’s gaze drifted to the window seat. She and her siblings had been in this very room when word came of the duke’s impending visit. Marrowgate Manor had tipped into upheaval at once, and no sound carried farther than their mother’s voice.

“The draperies are creased,” Lorenthea barked at a pair of seamstresses in the sunlit hall. Then, to a maid, “Not those flowers—fresh ones from the gardens.” Kora folded deeper into the window seat, as though making herself smaller might dull her mother’s temper. “Do you expect me to present this household to a duke in such a state?”

“You are certain he is handsome?” Elysande pressed Jeachim. For the third time.

Jeachim slouched into his chair, his face pale from days of travel. “I’ve said already,” he muttered. “Devastatingly so. And slightly brooding. The court whispered plenty about him—and his dalliances with women. Must I repeat myself?”

Kora had certainly forgotten about that. Doubt tugged at her.

“I need details, Jeachim,” Elysande said sweetly, though the bite showed in her smirk.

Their brother rubbed his forehead with a trembling hand.

Kora’s sympathy came easily.

“Mother,” Elysande said, turning as Lorenthea swept into the room. “Tell Jeachim how important this visit is. He does not seem to understand.”

Their mother crossed the room and kissed Jeachim’s brow. “Sit up straight,” she commanded. “You are the heir of Marrowgate.” Then she rested a hand on Elysande’s shoulder. “Jeachim understands enough. This is your moment, Elyse.”

She gave Kora only a passing glance, colder than frost on glass.

Kora knew her life had been gentle enough: slow Ardorri mornings, lessons before luncheon, afternoons in her father’s study reviewing ledgers, evenings with Yaoaya in the library. It felt shameful to entertain dissatisfaction, yet the house had never truly felt like home.

She had resolved to appease her family by making herself invisible. During the duke’s visit, that had seemed survivable. Now, facing her reflection, the attempt carried a bitter edge.

“What thinks the lady?” Yaoaya asked gently.

Kora sighed. “I was trying to remember life before the madness.”

But with news of the wedding, it was impossible. The manor had fallen into frenzy again. Someone had been sent racing to fetch a Moongazer from the town shrine. Another dispatched with last-minute invitations.

Yaoaya studied Kora in the mirror. Her eyes were narrow-set and tilted, lending them an alert, watchful quality. In the slant of sunlight, they flickered green before settling back to grey. “The lady having second thoughts?”

Kora’s breath caught. “What do you think?” The question came out more sheepish than she intended. “Was my decision too hasty?”

Hylsa hurried in with a green ribbon for Hanurath’s blessing—that the marriage endure and provide. Kora murmured her thanks with the best smile she could muster. The maid curtsied quickly and vanished toward her next errand.

Yaoaya took the ribbon without comment, tying it at Kora’s waist. “And the alternative?” she asked. “Was it better?”

Kora pressed her lips together, then sighed. “No.”

It had not been an easy decision, but neither had it been a difficult one. Kora understood that what had taken place in the garden was not a proposal, but an offer of terms. In the marriage itself she held little interest. In the contract, however, she saw potential.

The duke had been plain about his needs: a wife. And the cost, she suspected, would be paid in a measure of his freedom.

What he could not know was that his proposal offered her something she needed: escape. Her own price to pay was clear enough. But Kora had known an heir would one day be required of her, by one man or another. If that was her fate, it might as well be a duke who granted her the courtesy of choosing him.